


John Watson, Cyber-psychic

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Au first meeting, Cyber-psychic, Homeless Network, M/M, Mrs. Hudson is BAMF, Remote viewing during the cold war, Serpent's Tooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: AU first meeting, Moriarty threatens the world and John threatens to pulverize Sherlock. So not good. **Serpent's Tooth is a group of computer hackerteers that Sherlock is a member of. In my world, Sherlock has his Homeless network and his computer hacker network to help him out.I don't do an outline when writing. I just write. So things can turn on a dime depending on what my brain is doing at the time. Also I know that Sebastian Moran is the normal designation for Moriarty's right hand guy. I'm not really a fan of the name Sebastian. So I've changed his name to Bastian. A name I really love. I'm the storyteller.  >:O)Serpent's Tooth is from Act 1, Scene 4 of William Shakespeare's King Lear: "How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!"Yeah, I'm a thankless child.





	1. Sherlock Holmes, hackerteer

John Watson is a cyber – psychic. One of a small group of persons capable of linking their psychic abilities into the cyber world. He works out of the WhiteSnake division of NATO’s Inter – dimensional organization. The IDO is known only to a handful of individuals. Mycroft Holmes being one of them. Not even Sherlock Holmes is privy to this super secret organization and its incredibly gifted staff.

It’s not until John is entangled in one of Sherlock’s cases that the super secret organization is uncovered by the younger Holmes. John is exposed and the world learns about the existence of Cyber – psychics. Now there is an international scramble to kidnap these specialists. Their abilities could change the balance of power among the powers of the world. 

Feeling responsible for the initial reveal. Sherlock goes looking for John to make sure he is safe.

(-_-)

“Sherlock. Sherlock, this whole situation is beyond your capacities to resolve.” Mycroft is adamant that his younger brother abandon his current pursuit. 

“It was my deductions that have placed John Watson in danger. I can’t just walk away from this, from him. He was doing his job when I ‘outed’ him.

Mycroft sighs. Looking down at his immaculate Italian Berluti shoes. “I have urgent matters to attend to. I’m leaving several of my personal guard to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Sherlock?” 

Looking up, he finds his younger brother ensconced on his couch. Hands steepled under his chin. Deep in the chambers of his Mind Palace.

Mycroft jams the tip of his umbrella into the well worn carpet of 221B. Turning on his heel, he gives up on the conversation that is obviously going nowhere.

Several hours later, Sherlock is using his Google Fu to suss out any and everything concerning cyber-psychics. Not much on the normal channels.

Entering a realm of cyberverse that no one has ever heard of. Not the DarkNet, but an even more clandestine venue. Sherlock contacts his compatriots and computer peers, the on-line cyberhackerteers, Serpent's Tooth. ** 

“Sasha. I need all data available on WhiteSnake and John H. Watson a member of said group. He is a cyber psychic.” Sherlock speaks across his highly encrypted line directly into the group.

“Sherlock, uploading packets of data streams to your personal organic frame. Should be complete in twenty two minutes.” Sasha says nonchalantly.

Sherlock lifts an eyebrow. That is a shite load of information for him to digest.

“I’ve cataloged out the bits that might be of extreme interest to you on the front end.” Sasha says with a lilt to her voice. 

“That’s quite admirable of you, Sasha.” High praise from a Sherlock Holmes who is a miserly to say the least with such words.

(-_-)

After digesting the data available from Serpent’s Tooth and the hacked info from White Shake (that took some intricate coding to get into.) Sherlock knew he had unleashed terror upon the world. The cyber – psychic's were a unique set of human beings who, not unlike their predecessors the ‘remote viewers’ of the Cold War; could project their consciousness. Not just projecting consciousness to limited sites; they could use the interconnected systems of satellites the crisscrossed the entire planet. They were able to upload and download themselves via the satellites. They could be anywhere at anytime with the least amount of personal energy expended.

The cyber – psychics were now an extremely hot commodity. The gold standard of spying. Spying on a level not known before. Each individual was now worth billions. Fortunately, they were all shrouded in secrecy. All except John H. Watson. Former captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, surgical trauma doctor and level 10 cyber-psychic (the highest level known) that one Sherlock Holmes had discovered and unwittingly thrown under the doubledecker bus.

John Watson was out there. In danger and with a price on his head that would entice anyone in the world to give him up. Sherlock had to find him and some how make him safe. Though how he was going to do that he hadn’t figured out.

(-_-)

John was lucky to be alive. Some idiot had displayed images of him to the world press. Speculated on what he was and pretty much got it right on the nose. Right now he was being held in an electromagnetic field prison. His body was safe at a WhiteSnake facility, but what his captors had in mind was up for discussion. Shifting and attempting to project toward the nearest orbiter was proving to be beyond difficult. He’d been out of body for long periods of time so he wasn’t too concerned yet about his particle integrity, but everyone had their limits. He calmed him mind. There was no breathing when you were in particle form. There was wave action of your particles. So gently, John sent wave after wave of motion through his particles. This pushed his integrity up against the electromagnetic field. Looking. He was looking for any kind of breach-able section of the containment field. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think his captors aware that he had to return to his body on a regular basis? If not he would be the first cyber psychic to die in the cyber wars.

(-_-)

It wasn’t a very sound hypothesis. John Watson was an invaluable tool in the right or wrong hands. His only real weak point being that he had to return to his body on a regular basis or suffer de– particularization. Literally dissolving into the surrounding environment. So given that he was worthless dead, whoever had him needed his flesh body to ensure that he didn’t die.

So to find the cyber – psychic Sherlock had to find his flesh body. Ergo, Sherlock, with help from Serpent’s Tooth had to break into WhiteSnake’s shelter facilities. Find Watson and hitch a ride to the place where he was being held captive. Easy. At least in his mind it was going to be easy.

(-_-)

“Sherlock we are going to lose communications in about one minute five seconds.” Sasha advised.

“Then quickly impart the information needed.” Sherlock demanded.

On his pulse computer, one of his own creations. A computer running on the energy field generated by the human body. His body. On screen the data from Sasha gave him the information he needed. The shelter facilities were huge. Well protected and security personnel were everywhere. No problem. A slight diversion and… Alarm klaxons sounded as his computer showed multiple entities approaching his location. 

“Shite.” 

Sherlock tucked his pulse computer into its sling bag and became the invisible man. Almost. Ducking through corridors. Skipping from blind spot to blind spot. He was looking for a specific room. The sanctuary rooms where the flesh bodies of the cyber-psychic’s. Room 1011, 1012, 1013. _{Ah, there you are.}_ Sherlock thought.

The thumb pad entry designated to keep unwanted individuals out was easily thwarted. Once in Sherlock closed the door quietly behind him and looked at the bodies laid out before him. Five people were ensconced in life chambers that provided the flesh body with what it needed to survive. Four women and one man. One John Watson.

Sherlock thought he’d be larger. Hmm. Watson was a smallish man. Inconspicuous. Ordinary. {Well, book, cover.} Sherlock thought. The life support chamber that held Watson was larger than it needed to be. Built for more preposterous people, no doubt. Sherlock removed some of the unnecessary items in the bottom of the chamber and threw in a few comfort items for himself. He’d placed a few perimeter sensors on his way in, now while the whole facility was in an uproar concerning his illegal entry, the sensors warned him of other intruders as well.

“Exceptional, my arrival is quite fortuitous. The kidnappers are here. Spot on.” Folding himself up into a neat Sherlock package, he hid away in bottom of Watson’s life chamber just as the bad guys made it through the rear elevator doors of the room.

Sherlock felt their chamber being secreted away. It was only a matter of time before he met the out of body John Watson. That was something to look forward to. Sherlock was giddy with anticipation. He calmed his inner excitement with a tantalizing analysis of several different formulations of plant poisons he’d been working with. That would take some time. Hopefully, the kidnappers were above average morons and not the slime mold variety.

(-_-)

“This is Blue Jay leader to Magpie King. Do you copy?” The extraction crew was nearly out of the building. With little or no resistance to their plan.

“Go ahead Blue Jay leader.” A smooth as silk, soft voice said. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve bollocked things up.”

“Magpie King, we are on time, on schedule. We are showing two life signs in the life chamber. Advise on how you want this handled?” The team leader was very aware that the ‘Boss’ was very hands on when it came to what he did and didn’t want happening. It was very unwise to upset the ‘Boss’. Very unwise.

“Blue Jay leader. Advise you use a non lethal gas to immobilize the additional life sign and bring the entire chamber to the main servicing center at King’s aviary.”

“Copy that, Magpie King. Redirecting life pod and administering gas immediately.”

Blue Jay leader could hear the ‘Boss’ humming to himself in the background. He knew he would not want to be the poor sod who was attempting to interfere with the ‘Bosse’s’ business. That was the mistake one made only once in a lifetime.

(-_-)

John was not a happy particularized being. {If I ever get my hands on the sodding, shites head who plastered me all over the press, I will turn him into a flipping wet spot on the horizon.} He couldn’t find a way out of his cage. Frustrated and inflamed with rage against the people holding him, there was little he could do but fume, oscillate and vibrate the air in his containment field. Making it dangerous for people to get too close.

“Hi.” A soft, silky child-like voice sounded in the room that John was being held. “John Watson, I presume. My name is Jim and I’m here to make your life better.”

John began bouncing his particles at faster and sharper speeds.

“I know you’re not happy being locked up here. But happy news. I’ve acquired you flesh body and it is on its way here even as we speak. Great right?”

John stilled himself. Everything changed now. His flesh body was supposed to be sacrosanct. WhiteSnake was supposed have massive security in place. Who or what could have stolen his flesh body away. Reality blazed through his being. This Jim was now in complete control of his life. _{Bloody hell, I’m finished.}_ He thought. _{It’s all done but the burial.}_

(-_-)

Sherlock Holmes awoke slowly. He’d been cataloging poisons in his Mind Palace. He’d been happily waiting for the life pod to reach its destination. When everything had just drifted away. Trying to hoist himself up to a sitting position, he found his body incapable of many of the fine motor skills required to do so. 

“It’s a mild paralytic, nothing to be too concerned about. It just makes it easier for me to observe you as you can’t run away. Don’t you know.” Jim Moriarty sat in a comfortable over stuffed chair not far from where Sherlock lay. You have interfered with my intricate plans. I really don’t like people who mess with my plans. It’s quite annoying.”

“I’ve been told the same by many others. It’s never occurred to me to give a fuck about what others think.” Sherlock said as he tried to rally his body to do his bidding.

“Really, you are going to try to bluster your way into my good graces? Moriarty states.

“I’ve actually come to rescue Dr. John Watson, if you must know.” Sherlock says with a great deal of dramatic flair.

“Bang up job so far.” Moriarty finds the rescue attempt laughable. “Throw him into the containment area. He can at least meet Dr. Watson. Before he is killed.”

Two huge muscular males come into yank Sherlock off the floor and drag him down the hall to the containment room. There, he is unceremoniously deposited inside the room. 

Barely able to move, Sherlock observes this new environment. There in a magnetic containment field is an image of the body he know is John Watson.

“Who the hell are you?” John doesn’t speak, but Sherlock can ‘hear’ him.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes and I’ve come to rescue you?” 

“Bloody shite job you are doing of it.” John whirls around his containment field. Frustration clearly evident in his body language. 

Sherlock stands, leaning heavily against the nearest wall. “I think that you’ll find I’m very resourceful.” Sherlock rummages in one of the large pockets of this Belstaff. Pulling out a hand full of tiny spherical objects. Gold, silver and copper objects. He hurls them at the electromagnetic field. There is minor crackling and the field disintegrates. John is free. 

Sliding down the wall, Sherlock smiles. He may not be able to get himself out in his present condition, but John Watson is free to go.

“Your flesh body is somewhere here in this complex. Go and find it.”

“What about you?” John looks concerned. 

“Remember, I’m the resourceful one. I’ll figure something out. Go. Go on, get out.” Sherlock closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the cold wall. When he opens his eyes, John is gone. “At least he listened to me.” Sherlock thinks about his own escape now. His computer like brain is struggling against the drugs in his system. “What did they give me?” He says out loud.

(-_-)

John Watson is surveying the complex that was/is his confinement. His flesh body is somewhere close. With ease he zeros in on himself.

(-_-)

John takes a deep cleansing breath. Finally in his flesh body, he takes a full inventory of himself. He is in good working order. Now the hard part. He has to go back there and rescue that tall posh git who set him free. Jumping into action, John isn’t sure how he is going to do this, but it will be done.


	2. Rescuing the rescuer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up close and personal, John and Sherlock escape their confinement. Yet their journey together has just begun. If they can only keep from having sexy thoughts about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serpent's Tooth is Sherlock's hackerteer organization. An Urban Legend, or so everyone thought.

John had the layout of the building in his brain. Having scanned it in its entirety when in his altered state. So finding the tit wasn’t going to be hard. Avoiding the security guards and cameras was another can of worms. But John had one thing going for him that these baddies didn’t know. Not only could he utilize the orbiters over head to move through time and space. He could communicate with them instantaneously, without the aid of a computer; use them, direct them and control them. Yeah, that was a BIG advantage in the world of cyber espionage.

So taking down the local power plant, diverting every computer within a 30 mile radius by a Denial of Service cyber attack and Bob’s your uncle. Easy with a capital E.

John found the cell that he’d been kept in. The famously tall and tremendously exotic looking Sherlock Holmes is still confined there. Though he does appear to be in better shape than last time John had seen him.

John unlocks the door and enters. Sherlock is still sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. 

“Sherlock Holmes.” John says conversationally. “So you’re the wanker who told the press about me. Very not good, mate. I should leave you here to the tender mercies of these despicable miscreants. But I’m in a good mood now that I’m back in my flesh body.” John walks up to Sherlock and hoists him onto his feet with ease. Placing Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders, so that he could lean on him as they walk together.

Sherlock is startled by the inherent strength of the shorter man.

“Sorry about the ‘outing’ you bit. In my defense I was not fully cognizant of the consequences of my actions until it was too late. I received a blow to the head prior to my involvement in this case. It affected me.” Sherlock said those last words as if they were a stinging blow to his personal integrity.

John stopped a minute to examine Sherlock. With his free hand he gently turned Sherlock’s face toward him and into the over head lighting. 

“For fuck’s sake, you’ve a concussion.” John breathed out.

“It’s a minor injury. I’ll be fine.” Sherlock said stoically. Trying to stand on his own, finding he can’t and leaning even more on John.

“Like hell it is and you are not.” John admonishes his would be rescuer. Reassessing his priorities, John has to get Sherlock out of the facility, but with minimal interaction with the bad guys. Sherlock is in no condition for high drama or any kind of impact. 

“Why am I always inflicted with amateurs?” John says under his breath.

“I am NOT an amateur.” Sherlock states with great dignity, but then stumbles over his own feet as John bears more and more of his weight.

Exasperated, John finally decides on a fireman’s carry. Scooping up Sherlock onto his good right shoulder, he lifts him off the ground. Holding him tightly by an arm and his legs, John moves quickly and quietly down the empty hallway.

The over head lights go out, the alarm sirens blare and somewhere emergency generators try to kick in but are hampered by the satellites above. John is in control and using every trick he knows to get them out safely.

“I do believe that this method of conveyance is causing kinetosis.” Sherlock stutters out.

“Crap.” John states as he expertly positions Sherlock so that he can vomit on the floor and not on himself or John. Surprisingly, there isn’t much there. John makes note of that fact, takes a kerchief from his pocket wipes Sherlock’s mouth and they are off again. The flickering emergency lighting is making their escape pretty damn easy. John connects with local computers and opens all doors and any computer controlled water sources. “That should give everyone something to work on.” John says humorously.

“Might I request our present destination?” Sherlock asks from John’s shoulder.

“We are getting you to a safe and comfortable place.” John answers. He can hear Helios over head. “I think our ride just showed up. Hang on.”

“Bloody hell.” Sherlock gasps as John starts going at a full trot to a side exit.

(-_-)

Sherlock refuses hospitalization. So, of course, John whisks him off to his digs at 221C Baker Street. It’s a smallish flat in an old apartment. His land lady is busy dusting the entry way when he practically carries Sherlock in. 

“Oh John, another stray?” She smiles at him. Knowing he is a soft touch for anyone needing tending to.

“Hopefully, this one won’t crawl up the curtains.” John muses.

“Why are we here?” Sherlock, haughty and put upon, looks down upon the small minions in his presence.

“Because you git, you refused to go to hospital. You have no one in your mobile as any kind of person to contact in case of injury.”

“I am able to manage by myself.” Sherlock says standing tall. Then collapses onto John who catches him before he hits the ground.

“Maybe a cuppa would be advisable.” Sherlock says a bit woundedly.

“Yeah, that’s going to fix things up.” John lifts and ushers the tall man into his apartment. 

It’s a smallish apartment, like the smallish man who inhabits it. John deposits Sherlock on his smallish couch and goes to put the kettle on. Coming back he takes Sherlock’s shoes off, elevates his feet onto the couch and covers him with a handy quilt that is sitting on the chair across from Sherlock.

The apartment is cozy. There are books and photos. John’s history laid bare to Sherlock’s eager perception.

“You are a doctor, but you don’t practice as much as you did when younger. The cyber world has become the main channel of your activities. Your family is loved from a distance. Their toxic behaviors cause you pain, but you still care for them. You are a caring, sensual man who’s appetites are wide and varied.”

“Well, spot on again. You aren’t psychic. I’m guessing that you are ultra observant and a major pain in everyone’s ass. You get off on being right and you hate being ordinary.”

Sherlock lifts an eyebrow at those observations. “You’ve read my files.” He looks for confirmation.

“Of course, I’ve read your files. You twat. You’ve made it impossible for me to do my line of work. You’ve made me a household name.”

“I could offer you anonymity once again.” Sherlock gives a half smile.

John looks annoyed and inquisitive at the same time. “Just how do you propose to do that?” He hears the kettle boil and motions for Sherlock to hold a moment. He quickly advances into the small kitchen and returns with the tea kettle, cups and a plate of tasty looking pastries. 

Placing the tray down he pours water over the tea leaves and nudges the pastries in Sherlock’s direction.

“Cream, two sugars.” Sherlock disdains to request. 

John complies. “You were saying...” 

“I’m member of Serpent’s Tooth. Not many people have heard of them.”

Suddenly, Sherlock has John’s full attention. “Serpent’s Tooth is a myth. Urban legend. No body really believes they exist except in the florid imaginations of the psychologically challenged.”

Now Sherlock bestows one of his most winning smiles. He doesn’t offer these up to many people. John seems so extraordinary that he deems him worthy.

“I’m Lord Digital Death.” Sherlock says as he devours an almond butter biscuit and reaches for a pomegranate jelly tart.

John makes note of his gastronomic preferences. Sherlock Holmes isn’t what John thought he was. Not the meddling tosser that is out of his element. No, possibly an agent of change. Maybe John’s way into the legendary, no not legendary, illusory and possibly real Serpent’s Tooth.

Sherlock yawns and looks to be ready to crash and burn, even though he’s just admitted some rather interesting factoids.

“We can talk more about your imaginary friends tomorrow.” John’s smile is warm and welcoming. “You can take my bed. I’ll kip out here on the couch. Let me see if I can find something for you to wear.” He stands to go to his bedroom.

“I prefer to sleep au natural.” Sherlock says without the slightest hesitation. 

“Well, I’ll just put down some clean sheets and tuck you in then, shall I?”

John does just that. He changes the bed and makes sure Sherlock gets into the bedroom in one piece. He’s still wobbly as he sits on the edge of the bed, as John offers to help him undress. 

“I am a doctor. You are not a timid person by all accounts. I’ve seen it all before. So not to worry.” 

Sherlock wants to show his independence, but fears his current condition renders him less than capable.

“That would be fine.” He says softly.

A trip to the loo. Brushing of teeth via a spare toothbrush. Then back to bed. Quickly, efficiently and with the minimum amount of exposure, Sherlock is rendered nude and tucked in for the night with a tall glass of water at his bed side stand.

“If you need to get up in the night, just give me a holler. I sleep light. I will be here to help you with anything you need.”

“I appreciate your service of care.” Sherlock states. He’s been taken care of before, but this seems different. Personal. Comfortable. Loving. 

“I’ll leave the light on for you. Turn it off when your ready. John grabs some clothing from his drawers and leaves the door ajar as he exits.

Sherlock looks about the room. Sensual. A generous lover. Open to experimentation. Pansexual. Why is Sherlock thinking along sexual themes? Why indeed. The small bedroom holds many mementos of the past. They tell of a man comfortable within his own skin. A caring man, who’s compassion is equaled only by his strength of character and his unconquerable will. A man Sherlock would definitely like to know better. This has been a long track of time. He is weary. He turns off the light. His mind is rampaging down so many corridors in his Mind Palace. There, close to the main entrance hall, Sherlock sees a new wing that’s just opened. John stands at the entrance. He’s wearing his military best. Sherlock’s whole body melts as he gazes at the man decked out in his uniform. Buttons shining. Midnight blue eyes piercing his very soul. 

“John.” Sherlock whispers tenderly. As his Mind Palace folds around him and Captain John Watson takes his hand.

(-_-)

Sherlock awakens slowly. He can hardly believe that he’s slept the whole night away. He checks his computer brain. Anything happen while he was off line? Nothing pops up for his immediate attention. 

There are muted sounds and heavenly aroma’s wafting through the air. Sherlock feels his stomach make unreasonable demands. It actually growls at him.

“Shut up.” He tells it as it snaps and simpers at his words.

Getting up he uses the loo. Grabs the top sheet and decorously drapes it about his nudity.

Slowly, cautiously he ambles into the sitting room and sniffs the air further.

“A full English if you’re awake and aware enough to appreciate it.” John says as he pulls out a chair for Sherlock in his tiny kitchen. 

Sherlock sits. His sheet drifts off his shoulders to languish at his hips. 

John places his breakfast before him and for the first time in decades, Sherlock feels hungry.

As Sherlock harpoons his breakfast with his fork, John admires his alabaster skin. The taut musculature that fits upon the elongated frame that hints at legs that go on for days. The freckles that adorn his neck and the riot of dark curls that burst about his head like the corona of a dark star. 

_{My god, John Watson,}_ he thinks to his saner self. _{Quit eye fucking the poor bastard.}_

Sherlock looks up at John’s too thin tee-shirt and well worn pajama bottoms. His laser powers of perception leave little to his imagination. _{Bloody hell,}_ he thinks _{John is sex on toast.}_

John sits down to dig into his breakfast as he passes a cup of coffee to Sherlock. Sherlock tastes the heaven that is the perfect amount of sugar, real cream and coffee. His eyes close in an approximation of ecstasy. 

“Orgasmic coffee is it?” John asks with a smirky smile upon his thin lips. 

Sherlock licks his lips, then runs his very long index finger over those prominent, kissable lips.

“Where have you been all my life?” Sherlock says quite honestly.

“Waiting for you.” John says with larceny on his mind. _{Remember he is concussed.}_ John thinks. The doctor in him takes over. “I can wait till you are better.” He states pragmatically.

“I’ve never been better than right now.” Sherlock says as he drinks his orgasmic coffee and stares at the small man with big ideas.


	3. WhiteSnake, Serpent's Tooth...what's with the snake motif?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock turns John's world upside down. WhiteSnake has ideas and John Watson has a new 'young man.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I'm not a computer nerd. I do know a Lord Digital Death. But if I went to him for advice, he'd have to kill me. I'm just a story teller and I hope you like the fantasy.

John tilled his head and lifted an eye brow at that last comment. {An offer on the table so soon?} He thought. {How lucky is that?} His mobile chirped and then made hissing sounds.

John’s chin sank to his chest as he huffed a disappointed sound. “Fuck. WhiteSnake calling. At the same time a ‘woo – hoo’ and a tapping sound was heard on the sitting room door. 

Mrs. Hudson entered carrying a package. “Ah, Sherlock good to see you up and about. A nice looking young man just brought this by for you.” She handed him the package that was the size and shape of his pulse computer. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock said while accepting the package. “I’ve been expecting this.” 

“Well, I’ll just pop off then.” She tootled as she exited their apartment. 

John was talking to someone on his mobile, with his back turned so that Sherlock couldn’t read his lips. Sherlock hated when that happened. 

“And the serpent in the garden,” Sherlock intoned, dropping the rich baritone of his voice to a red velvet chocolate cake texture.

John turned then. A whimsical smile upon his thin, but rather attractive lips. Why was everything about John Watson suddenly very attractive. Very arousing. Very enticing. Just plain very.

“WhiteSnake wants me in to talk about my future.” John said rather glumly. 

“So witness protection like program. New life. New you. That’s not what you want, John Watson.”

“No, it isn’t.” John said truthfully. “I was doing great work. I don’t want to give that up.”

“Then go see your former employer. Give them the push off and come work for Serpent’s Tooth.”

John stared squarely at Sherlock. “Have a great dental plan, have you? Child care and paid medical leave for pregnancy?” John was being very sarcastic. 

“We could do things that WhiteSnake wouldn’t dream of.” Sherlock said haughtily.

“I’ve heard that Serpent’s Tooth is a leaderless group of anarchists, Sherlock.”

Sherlock finally noticed that his sheet was barely covering any part of him. So he gathered up the linen and flung it theatrically around his shoulders. 

“It was due to my misstep that you are at this juncture in your life. I will not abandon you to a life of less than what you can be. Believe me, John Watson.”

“Okay, I have to go in and cut the cord. You stay here and I’ll be back in an hour or so. Okay?” John didn’t have many options. Should he trust Sherlock? Could he?

John showered and dressed in his finest. John’s fashion sense was more refined and exuberant than Sherlock had thought. Dressed in color coordinated yet slightly avant – garde clothing, he looked sharp, confident and totally taste worthy. 

(-_-)

In John’s absence, Sherlock turned into a whirling dervish. He had plans for John. Good plans. He turned to his homeless network and Serpent’s Tooth for all the help he needed. He had to do this fast, before his meddlesome brother got wind of the changes occurring. Not that he could do anything. Sherlock was in charge.

(-_-)

It has actually taken more than three hours to extricate himself from the clutches of WhiteSnake. John was frustrated and upset. WhiteSnake had all but demanded that he take their offer of a ‘new’ life. In some hole-in-the-wall place, doing god knew what. No thank you.

He entered 221B and went down the hall to 221C turned the door knob and entered someones idea of a research lab. John did a double take and looked around several times. 

“Oh John, so glad you are finally home. I’m very impressed with your new ‘young man’. She said those last words with a knowing smile on her lips. Everything is all set to rights. He’s certainly a take charge individual.” She patted John’s forearm and retreated back to her apartment.

“Mrs. Hudson, what’s happened here? Where. Where is my apartment?” John is beyond mystified. 

“He’s up stairs now, love. I think you’ll be quite impressed.” 

John took the stairs two at a time. Going up to 221B. An empty flat that was far too large for his needs. He always kept his needs to the minimal. In his line of work, it didn’t pay to set down roots. To make future plans.

The sitting room door stood ajar. John nudged it open. The comfortable room was an extraordinary amalgamation of his belongings with those of a mad man. John took it all in. The warm colors of the room, the juxtaposition of a cyber psychic and Lord Digital Death, it was possibly brilliant that the two very different lives seemed to mesh with little or no disconnect.

“Ah, John. So glad you could join us. I have Sasha on line. Come sit down.” Sherlock guides John to his chair, pulled a large leather monstrosity close and turned his computer so that both John and he could view the screen.

“John Watson, I’d like you to me Sasha. We at Serpent’s Tooth have given her the nom de plume of ‘Serpent Tooth Fairy’. Sasha grimaced at the nickname which she obviously found embarrassing. As she looked through her long lashes at John.

Here was a woman who radiated intelligence. Her beauty was masked by her austere appearance. Her no-nonsense air gave John the impression that he could trust this woman with his life. That was a new experience for him.  
“John is the cyber psychic that I rescued from Moriarty.” Sherlock said with pride. Preening before the woman on the screen.

“I do believe that I remember the rescuing as more a mutual thing.” John looked directly at Sasha. “Would you excuse us for about ten minutes. I have some serious shouting to do at Sherlock.”

Sasha smirked. “By all means, please take all the time you need. I look forward to the aftermath of this little discussion. She clicked a button on her side and the screen went black.

Sherlock looks very put upon. “John, we really need to get you acclimatized to Serpent’s Tooth. We are a different type of organization. I think you will be quite surprised...”

“Sherlock. What the fuck? You’ve taken over my life. What gives you the right to move me into 221B?”

“It was my observation that we should co-habit and that this should happen now. I only acted on these observations, because they appeared to be the most logical direction for you. For us.”

John is gobsmacked. There was part of him that knew that Sherlock was correct. This was the right direction. This was where he wanted to be. But. But what? John is confused and befuddled. Taking a deep breath, he felt Sherlock’s large hand gently compress his knee. 

“I would never do anything to alienate you, John. You have to know that.” The sincerity in Sherlock’s voice is humbling. 

“It’s just so much, Sherlock. I’ve lost my profession. I’m met someone who has turned my world upside down, literally.” He looks into Sherlock’s exotic blue gray eyes. There was deep concern there. And compassion. The depth of the compassion was breath – taking. 

Energy flared in their space. Fireworks were muted lights compared to the electricity that filled the space between them. 

John ran his hands into the soft lapels of Sherlock suit. Gripping the material he brought the Mad Genius closer and closer by silly millimeters. Until their lips were touching. John could feel the warmth of Sherlock wafting over him. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly. 

John licks his lips and presses forward with a smoldering kiss. Sherlock succumbs to that kiss and tries to inhale John in every way possible.

Sherlock’s mobile chimes ‘God save the Queen’. Sherlock groans, huffs a great breath of disdain and reaches in his pocket for the demon device as John pulls away.

“Leave it to you, Brother Dear, to interrupt at the most untimely moment in my life. My answer is no to any question that you perceive to ask.”

[[Sherlock,]] Mycroft’s voice is clipped and precise, even over the mobile device speaker. [[I do believe that we need to discuss your recent change in living arrangements. Immediately.]]

“Go to hell and take your thoughts and opinions with you.” Sherlock hits the end call area of the screen. He can see that the moment has passed between John and himself.

Then the pulse computer makes a tone. Sherlock throws his hands in the air, bringing them back down, he grabs his massive dark, curly hair and ruffles the locks into an even more riotous array. 

“Calm down there, Sherlock interruptus.” John lifts Sherlock’s chin to gaze into his eyes. They both break out in smiles that merge into giggles, that escalate into laughter. 

The computer screen lights up and a young black man stares back at them. “Lord Digital Death, Remington here sir. We have a situation.” 

“That never sounds like a good thing.” John states wryly.

(-_-)

Sasha and Remington are monitoring a mock cyber attack on a nuclear facility. 

“It’s a run up to the actual attack.” Sasha states coolly. “They are doing a RAT raid. There is no way we can block all the incoming signals once they get going in a reality scenario.”

“RAT means...” Sherlock began to explain to John.

“Remote Access Tools, taking over low end computer driven devices. Linking them to form a larger, scarier shite storm of computer generated deviltry.” John is aware of what they are up against. “I can do a trace, much faster and less complex than the coding you’d need, by just traveling the path back to the originator.”

Sasha and Remington are thoroughly impressed. 

Sherlock is proud. John will be an invaluable addition to the Serpent’s Tooth team. Without the restrictions and bureaucracy of governments the hackerteers will be a power unto themselves.

“Once you’ve traced the personages behind our mock attack. Can you render them harmless?” Remington asks without blinking an eye.

“Yeah, I can destroy their equipment, but that only pisses them off...” John looks up to Sherlock and then over to Sasha and Remington. “You’re not talking about taking down their computers are you?”

“No, we are not.” Sherlock says stonily.

“Listen,” John says emphatically. “I will produce mayhem and catastrophe, but I’m not a killer. Alright.”

Remington looks at Sasha, who looks at Sherlock. 

“Good John. We are not a violent organization. We do have our ways. But I know you have killed in the past, to save the lives of innocents. I know that to be true.

“So what are your ‘ways’?” John dreads the on coming answer.

“You’ve heard of nanotechnology?” Remington begins. 

“Yes, it’s pretty amazing stuff.” John takes his eyes off Sherlock. Remington has the floor.

“Sherlock has invented viral-technology. No one has even thought of this kind of tech yet.” Sasha gives a nod to Lord Digital Death.

Sherlock basks in the positive feedback. Leaning back in his chair, there is a definite air of earned superiority about him. 

John looks to Sherlock. “Organic tech; so mad scientist as well as cyber sleuth. Is there anything you are hiding from me, Mister Sherlock Holmes?”

“We want to implant our viral-technology in your flesh body.” Sherlock stares into John’s eyes.

John’s eyes enlarge, yet he is intrigued. “Making me an a Typhoid Mary?”

“Of sorts,” Sherlock smiles his John smile. Only John has been able to inspire such a beatific facial expression. “We don’t want to do away with our enemies, John. We want to tag them with this tech. It will allow us to monitor them 24/7, where ever they roam. By entering their flesh body with your particle body we are hoping to pass the VT on to our target.”

“So this is still someone’s theory? Hasn’t been attempted yet?”

“Correct.” Remington says. “We’ve not had a cyber – psychic on board to try it.”

“So what are the possible drawbacks? The possible negative effects?”

“We’re not too sure about any side effects, after effects or negative effects. It’s all rather nebulous right now.” Sherlock says looking charmingly at John.

John sits back into his favorite chair and eyeballs everyone defensively. “So let me get this straight. You want me to locate the bad guys, infect them with your VT and be one of the first and maybe last guinea pigs of said VT in recorded history?”

“Pretty much,” Sherlock says with a wry smile. 

“It there any possibility that I might be able to carry the frigging VT in my particle form?” John is thinking hard about just how much he was willing to forgo his personal safety. For the sake of Sherlock Holmes? For the protection of the semi-free world?” John isn’t too sure.

“I think we can take that as an affirmative.” Sherlock stands, pulls John up to and encases him in Sherlockian hug that puts all other hugs to shame. 

John looks at the computer screen, seeing that Remington and Sasha are also doing their happy dance.


	4. To VT or not to VT?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Serpentarium, the Treasure room and John in Sherlock's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, I'm not British, nor do I have a British beta to help me sound British. So the story is very Americanized. Sorry about that.

“Okay, okay everyone take a deep breath and let’s think this through.” John disengages Sherlock, slowly, very slowly. Those long arms are an epic place to reside.

John pivots on his heel. “I have to say I’m intrigued. I’m very interested. But...”

“But this is all so sudden.” Sherlock finishes his sentence. “I. We are willing to slow down a bit so that you can catch up.” Sherlock sits again in his huge leather chair. He really would like to have John sit on his lap, but knows that isn’t going to happen with Sasha and Remington watching.

“Remington, maybe it’s time to pull out the presentation?” Sherlock steeples his hands beneath his chin and looks composed.

A very slick presentation begins on the computer screen. Sherlock’s voice, a rich and lush baritone begins. “We are Serpent’s Tooth. Hackerteers all.”

(-_-)

Sherlock pours another glass of wine for John. There is a warm glow about John that pleases Sherlock, who also has his glow on.

“That was extremely impressive. Quite impressive. Your Serpent’s Tooth is more than a bunch of hoodlums. Wise people, good people. I’m glad I’ve met you, Sherlock. You don’t have to ply me with wine, you know. You had me when you said it was only logical that we co-habit. I’m in. And that is saying a lot. I’m a man with steep trust issues, my lad. You’ve just blown them all to hell.”

Sherlock lifts his long leg. Using the soft toe of his shoe to traces up the side of John’s inner leg, worming his way up under his knee.

John finds this strangely endearing. No one has ever played footsie with him this way. “If you go any higher. I might have to do something about it.” John says with good humor.

“I will definitely keep you to your word, John.” Sherlock says trying not to grin but failing.

There is a sharp knock on their door.

“Oh for bloody god’s sake. Mycroft go away.” Sherlock yells and sits up straight in his chair.

“I shall remain here until you open this door.” Mycroft states emphatically.

“Mycroft is who?’ John asks.

“My bloody brother.” Sherlock stands, walks to the door, unlocks it, opens it and slams it in Mycroft’s face.” 

“Brother mine, your childish behavior is not going to deter me.” Mycroft states.

“I’ll just go have a shower, shall I? Let you and your brother work out what ever serious issues that are pissing you off.” John stands, walking toward the bedroom to get fresh clothes. As he passes Sherlock he gives his shoulder a firm squeeze. “I’ve bookmarked our place for later.” He says conspiratorially.

“It’s unlocked you moron.” Sherlock admonishes his brother.

Mycroft enters, walking to John’s chair, he sits comfortably. As Sherlock gives him the evilest eye he can manage.

“Do grow up.” Mycroft begins.

“John and I are going to be cohabiting going forward and I will not reconsider this option. So you can get up and go back to tending to the world as you know it. Leave us alone.”

“Sherlock, I’ve come to offer my help in any way that I can. I would like to think that this state of affairs might lead to a permanent situation?”

Sherlock looks down his nose at his older brother. The air grows cold in the room as Mycroft stares back at him with all the power of his not unsubstantial Holmesian glare.

“You are not concerned about us. You’re here to get John to acquesce to WhiteSnake's demands. He’s too valuable an asset. You want to control his future, not lend your personal assistance.”

Mycroft looks to his brolly which he twirls with absolute precision. 

“I am aware the you run with the Serpent’s Tooth rabble.” Mycroft says with disdain. “There are people who fear this leaderless group. People who are willing to do things that are contrary to polite society to keep a top rank cyber – psychic out of their circle.”

“Don’t you dare come here and threaten John. You maybe the British Government, but you have no idea what and who Serpent’s Tooth is.” Sherlock stood, looming over his still sitting brother.

Sherlock’s pulse computer pings. The screen doesn’t come up, yet Remington’s voice is strong across the net. 

“Sir, we are ready.” He states coolly. 

“What is this nonsense?” Mycroft questions.

“John. We are leaving in a matter of minutes. Are you ready to go?” Sherlock stands, crosses to his coat and scarf, slipping into them with balletic grace. He hefts John’s jacket. As John exits their bedroom, Sherlock holds the jacket out to allow John to shimmy into it. 

“Lock up behind yourself, brother dear. We have urgent business to attend to.” Sherlock gives a scurrilous grin to his aberrant sibling as he whisks John from the flat.

Outside a cab waits for them. 

“Destination?” The lady cabby addresses Sherlock as they enter her cab.

“Serpentarium, via the undeviating route, Sam.” Sherlock informs their driver.

“So is the taxi driver part of Serpent’s Tooth or your homeless network?” John thinks he knows the answer.

“Sometimes the one becomes the other.” Sherlock says as he sits comfortably in the back of the cab. Placing his long arm around the back of John’s shoulders.

They travel through nine cabs and multiple terrains to come to bustling street where The Shard of Glass penetrates the London sky.

“This is your ‘Serpentarium’?” John smiles and gives Sherlock a side eye.

“Looks can be quite deceiving, my dear John. Serpent’s Tooth has been many things in different times. Many of the old and new edifices of our great city are inhabited by Toothsome inhabitants.”

“Toothsome? I guess that fits.” John smiles. “So I’m guessing that the long route here was to deter your brother from following us?”

“Humm.” Sherlock murmurs as he leads John into a private elevator.

Entering an adjoining buildings underground parking, they cross to the Shards basement, then up the elevators to an undesignated floor. Sherlock has not punched the buttons on the wall.

“How does the elevator know where we want to go?” John is curious.

“This is a smart building, John. It knows who is coming and going.”

John lifts an eye brow at this knowledge. The elevator doors open and Remington stands before them. 

“Dr. Watson.” Remington extends his welcoming hand. 

Sasha comes up behind the dark youth and she looks brimming with joy. Then from all sectors of the floor people begin to congregate around the small group.

“Everyone wants to meet our new cyber psychic.” Sherlock says pridefully, looking at John with a smug grin on his face. 

John takes control of the situation. “I’ve called this meeting at Serpent’s Tooth to reveal an astonishing revelation. Besides being a cyber psychic, I’m just a short man with a wicked desire to meet the man or woman who has the distinction of leading this leaderless group?”

Everyone laughs, including John. A pregnant quiet descends, they all turn to look directly at Serpent’s Tooth, Lord Digital Death. Sherlock.

“You’d already guessed.” Not a question. “So smart as well as talented and psychic.” Sherlock addresses the crowd. “How ready are we to begin experimentation with the VT?” He looks to his highly specialized crew. 

John lowers his voice to a whisper only Sherlock can hear. “I will be showing you how talented and psychic I am later on.”

Sasha states. “The Treasure room is ready.”

(-_-)

The Treasure room is quite impressive as John enters. WhiteSnake prided itself on their state of the art technology, but their holding cells, as they called them, paled before the comfortable, technological miracle of the Treasure room.

“Why Treasure room?” John ventured.

Remington gave a bit of an eye roll. “A photo of very young Lord Digital Death was found by certain people. Himself, at six years old, was dressed in a pirates outfit complete with the tricorn hat. You can find copies of it throughout Serpent’s Tooth if you look hard enough.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “An entire research section spent over a year combing through, literally tons of data looking for something to inspire dread and ire in me. I refuse to be intimidated by said images and destroy them when ever they pop up.” Sherlock said with uncommon haughtiness. 

Sasha came forward with what appeared to be a tiny petri dish. “This is our VT.” She stated quite simply. Nothing was visible with the naked eye in the dish.

John took the dish and held it in his left hand. Closing his eyes, the room went silent.

There was a minute crackle in the room. Static electricity tingled the skin of those present.

Everyone looked at everyone else.

“Sorry about that.” John opens his eyes and looks a bit embarrassed. 

“That was incredible.” Sasha says out loud.

“Are you able to telekinetically carry the virus? How do you propose to transport it? Virtually or by other means?” Sherlock looked into John’s midnight blue eyes and he could swear he saw constellations swirling there.

{How could such a man as John Watson, so captivate and enthrall him.}

Sherlock thought. He watched John take charge of the experimentation. 

John moved to a raised high tech lounge platform. 

Sasha quickly lowered the platform so John could sit in it. Laying back, he was amazed as it conformed to his body perfectly. It was neither too cool or too warm. Once again it was raised to a height that everyone could keep an eyes on him.

There weren’t the dozens of leads that WhiteSnake used to monitor him. 

“The platform itself has multiple monitors encased in it. So you won’t feel tied in.” Remington commented as if he could read John’s mind.

“We’ve customized this entire unit to your body specifications. There is a computer at either end of the platform with monitors for you as well as your observers. We tried to think of everything you might need and a few things that we’ve invented just for you.” Sasha was quite proud of the work done.

“Please note that I’m impressed as hell. Thank everyone for their extreme efforts. If you could explain your set up in detail, I’ll get acclimatized to this new-to-me rig.” John slipped into the comfy platform and it caressed him like a second skin. His audible sigh of ecstasy left everyone in the room light headed.

Sherlock was over the moon. John is amazingly adaptable. Serpent’s Tooth will have the world’s finest cyber – psychic. Moriarty and his ilk would be hard pressed to elude the Tooth now. And John. Sherlock’s mind spun on its axis just thinking about him. Brave beyond words. Resourceful. Intelligent and bloody sexy as hell. Quickly, he threw up a new central core in his Mind Palace. No room or wing for John. Rebuilding the core from the basement to the vaulted ceilings, multiple stories above, would only be the start. Whole cathedral like structures were penetrating the London sky inside Sherlock’s mind. Each one to hold the vast amounts of data that Sherlock must collect and catalog about his John.

**Yes, his John.** The very thought made Sherlock’s whole body seize up in anticipation.

Sherlock’s mobile pinged. Singing out the ‘God save the Queen’ ringtone.

Sherlock hung is head. In silent rage, he plucked his mobile out of his pocket and exited the bustling room to answer his brother’s call.

(-_-)

As Sherlock sparred with his malevolent brother. John was inundated with information about the new installation. Calibration. Infiltration. Sensory array. Data flow indicators. Silicone segue ways. As fast as they threw information at him, he absorbed it and came back at them with viable questions.

By the time Sherlock had scraped his mettlesome brother off his metaphorical boot, returning to the lab, he found John taking to the digital existence. 

“So soon?” Sherlock is flabbergasted. 

“You’ve got some pioneer there, Sherlock. He’s like a sensory sponge. This is just a quick hop into the adjoining lab.” Sasha said as she and several others monitored John’s progress.

To the left of John a monitor is showing images. They aren’t terribly clear, but techs are tweaking their source code in real time and the images coalesce. 

“That is what John is seeing. WhiteSnake is going to have a real twist in their knickers over our advancements.” Remington is as mind blown as Sherlock is.

The screen goes blank. Sherlock has a moment of panic, but then John opens his eyes.

“I need some oxygen.” He says conversationally. 

Immediately a male nurse steps forward to fulfill his request.

“Are you okay, John?” Sherlock steps forward to touch John’s face as John takes some deep breaths of the vital oxygen.

Moving the mask down a bit, John smiles at Sherlock.

“That was fan-fucking-tastic. I just took it too fast. My body couldn’t keep up with my mind in there. Who’s got the VT?”

Remington hands him the small petri dish. 

“John you don’t have to do this all in one day. You need to rest. Get some food in you.” Sherlock is emphatic about this.

“Okay, lets eat. But I’m taking this with me. I need to phenagle with it a bit.”

(-_-)

Sherlock complains that he isn’t hungry. John acquiesces yet with little effort starts feeding Sherlock from his plate. By the end of the meal, they have eaten John’s food and two thirds of Sherlock’s between them.

Sherlock takes John to his sleeping room on site. The bed room is spacious, minimalist but quite comfortable. John sits on the left side of the bed, then flops back wards. 

“I’m knackered, love.” John admits. “I’m going to have to give you a rain check on the show and tell part of the evening.”

Divesting themselves of clothing, they crawl into bed. After some pleasurable snogging and snuggling, John fades into sleep. Sherlock is happy to have John in his bed and his arms. Holding John close, he continues work on his Mind Palace. The new and improved John ̶ centric Mind Palace is taking shape. As he pushes the limits of his creativity, he too, fades into a coma like sleep.

(-_-)

Waking in his bed, Sherlock finds himself alone. “Where is John Watson?” he asks the computer present.

[John Watson is in the Treasure room.] The AI states. 

“Great.” Sherlock rushes into fresh clothing. “Is he engaged in psychic testing?”

[Yes.] Anticipating Sherlock’s next question it states. [Testing commenced six hours ago.]

“Bloody hell!” Sherlock hates sleeping.


	5. Toothsome Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real cyber attack looms. Moriarty is a dick reptile. John is tortured in ways not physical. What is Sherlock's plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry dear readers. I've been very ill and have been off my game.

“What the hell is going on?” Sherlock bursts into the Treasure room full of righteous indignation. 

The med-techs and tech-techs turn to look at him as one. 

“He came to us. He made a break through and wanted to try it out immediately. Then the actual cyber attack initiated.”

“And why wasn’t I notified?” Sherlock looks around the room to all his fellow Toothsome peers with a scowl that disintegrates every backbone present instantaneously.

“He threatened to kill anyone who woke you. He has an actual gun.” Remington stated emphatically. 

Sherlock huffs his disapproval, approaching John’s prone body. Laid out on the sensory platform, he looks like he is sleeping, but the monitors show that his body is running at minimal levels. The ocular monitor shows John’s POV. He is moving quickly through cyber space. Directing and redirecting his movements as he traces, tracks and deflects the global cyber attacks.

“He’s blocking incursions real time. It’s amazing. I never thought that human thought could move at that speed.” One of the techs intones.

“John Watson, you had better be prepared for a dressing down when you return.” He whispers to the still body. Then thinking about his words, he wonders just what kind of ‘dressing down’ he really wants or means.

(-_-)

John is primarily focused on the several satellites he is occupying at present. From this vantage point, the orbiters give him access to all points of power of the cyber attack. This is a pretty intense onslaught. Malicious codes, logic and data streams are resulting in disruptive consequences. Moriarty is truly the Napoleon of criminal activity. Yet, he’d never been up against John Watson. Never been countered by a level ten cyber – psychic. John smiles and selects a locality that appears to be a core sequence of energy.

[Ah-huh, now I’ve got you by your electronic short filaments.] John thinks.

Racing down to the suspected criminal hot spot, John isn’t carrying the physical VT, he is carrying a digital representation of the organic tech. More than anything he wants to finish off his task. He has places to be and a Sherlock Holmes to teach some new and interesting tricks to.

Entering into the vipers nest, John is an unseen specter. There is a cadre of computer hackers, each one in front of a computer screen. All busy trying to continue their interrupted invasion. 

John has the VT in his right hand. Now to do the deed and get the hell back home. 

(-_-)

“Bloody hell!” Remington is watching several monitors at once. “He’s doing it. Marking the hackers with the VT. Sherlock, it’s actually going to work.

(-_-)

“So Johnny Boy, come to visit Daddy? I been waiting so patiently for you to make your appearance.” Moriarty stands at the center of hub of hackers and smiles like the proverbial Cheshire cat. “I know you are here. The VT you are carrying works both ways so you can make yourself visible. There are no secrets here.” Moriarty gives a humorless laugh.

“This room is an upgrade on a Faraday cage. Using electromagnetic and electrostatic fields to contain you. There’s no escaping from me now.”

“So there’s a traitor in Sherlock’s hackerteers.” John states as he assumes a more visible form. 

“With the right incentive, anyone can be bought or leveraged to work for the other side. You know humans are easily manipulated. Especially when you have a master like me in charge.” He makes a dramatic flourish as he bows, preening at his own praiseworthy words.

“So from the beginning this has always been about capturing me.” John states. “What does the world’s most mephistophelian criminal mastermind want with a cyber – psychic?”

“I want you to work for me, of course. But if that’s not in the cards then, I want to take you apart, particle by particle. Whatever it is that makes you what you are. I want to own that.” 

(-_-)

“There is something wrong, Sherlock.” Sasha says with great concern. “The VT’s are disappearing, one by one.” 

“That would only happen...” Sherlock began.

“If they were dying one by one.” Remington said in shocked surprise. “How could he do that to his own people?”

“Moriarty isn’t human.” Sherlock reminds them. “They are all just meat for his grinder. What about John’s signal?” Sherlock adds with a tad too much fearfulness in his voice.

“We’ve lost him. One minute it he was there, the next he was gone.” One of the techs says with gloominess in his voice.

Everyone turns to look at John’s body. The monitors show that he lives. All the readings still at minimal levels. Sherlock sits on the edge of the platform, a melancholy demeanor surrounds him.

“I think we should give Sherlock some space here guys.” Remington says softly. All the monitoring equipment is put on remote pick up and the room clears quickly. 

Sherlock picks up John’s hand. It’s so much smaller than his, yet the musculature is strong and pronounced. Sherlock breathes heavily, bringing his lips down to kiss the inner surface of John’s hand.

“I promise you, John, that you will be safely at my side again.” 

Sherlock’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. Leaning over he brings his forehead to John’s. Smoothing back John’s silver gold hair.

Sherlock enters into a meditative state. He enters the gates of his Mind Palace. He has to see John again, even if it is only the Mind Palace version.

John comes striding up, brimming with confidence, vitality and a smile that will liquefy the heart of a thousand suns. Sherlock gratefully engulfs his John. Holding him tight, he begins to tremble with a joy that is tinged with fear.

“Sherlock, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare give up hope.” John commands.

His version of John brings Sherlock’s face down to his and kisses him. The most passionate, most playful, most loving kiss that the world will ever know, graces Sherlock’s lips. 

{Sherlock.} John’s voice sounds far away and stressed. 

Sherlock looks into the eyes of Mind Palace John. 

{Sherlock.} The far away voice is calling and Mind Palace John hasn’t spoken. Letting go of Mind Palace John, he wheels about scanning. Listening, not with ears, but with his spirit, his soul, every molecule of his being.

“John, is that you?” He speaks without words. With thoughts that move through time and space. Amplified by the strength of his Mind Palace.

{Sherlock!} John says his name like it’s a life boat in a tsunami sea. He sounds relieved and weary.

“Where are you?” Sherlock demands.

{Unknown.} Comes the fading answer.

“What’s happening John. You are fading.”

{Exhausted, you, me hive mind. Soonest.} 

Sherlock can no longer sense John’s presence. 

“You heard the man. Soonest!” Mind Palace John says as he shoos Sherlock out of his section of the Palace.

Exiting the John portion of the Mind Palace Sherlock digs into his data files in a separate wing. There in his fun facts stack he finds; a gentleman named Louis Rosenberg has been doing some studies on hive mind activities. Like the geometry waggle dance of the bees that allows the hive to know the whereabouts of nectar sources by the exact tilt of the sun. Rosenberg has determined that many minds are greater at problem solving and predicting outcomes than any single human being can be. Interesting.

John has contacted Sherlock in the only way he could, telepathically. This process must be exceedingly energy depleting. That is why the brevity of thoughts that come across. John needs access to many minds. Linking up will give him the energy to converse, maybe even escape more readily.

Sherlock thinks about his people, to a person they all possess great mental acuity. Wait. How was John so easily captured yet again. He knew going in his task was to hit and run. Somehow, Moriarty must have known he was coming. Yes. That would explain a great deal. So there was a mole in Serpent’s Tooth. This would make putting together a hive mind difficult. But not impossible. How to expose the mole and gather together the hive mind needed to bring John home? That was the question?

(-_-)

Moriarty was capable of anything. Taking the lives of his computer hackers was done on a whim. John watched as each succumbed to his death sentence. His henchmen killed the hackers and dragged the bodies from the room.

“So what is it that you want me to do?” John has to keep things going. This madman could turn at any moment. 

“I’ve got a very long list. Murders, toppling of governments, bringing cartels to their collective knees and, of course, the utter destruction of Serpent’s Tooth.”

“You are aware that I’m one of the good guys.” John states conversationally. “What makes you think I’ll do any of your dirty work?”

Moriarty smirks then tills his head in an odd, almost reptilian manner.

“You’d like to think you can play games with me? I was committing crimes while you were still in First Form. I know how to leverage people. Manipulate them. I know what you care about.” Moriarty looks directly into the spectral eyes of John Watson. 

John can see that Moriarty’s eyes are dead. The dark brown depths empty of any speck of soul. Can he use that to his advantage?

“I’ve no close friends and all of my family members are dead. Just what do you think you can do to make me your creature?”

Moriarty takes a deep dramatic breath. Not smiling with any part of himself.

(-_-)

Sherlock sits at John’s side, holding his warm and unresponsive hand. Techs and med-techs linger in a separate room. They are monitoring John. His POV monitor has lost feed. Everyone is worried about this, but the techs say that the transmission maybe blocked.

Sherlock mind is racing in ever tightening circles. Worry about John has obliterated his thoughts of possible action. Shaking himself, mentally and physically, he knows that his inaction is not helping John. So he must find people he can trust for John’s hive mind. Pulling his mobile out he starts making connections. The Toothsomers are under suspect, so until the mole is found and neutralized, they can not be a part of this.

(-_-)

John is screaming.

Moriarty is flooding his mind with the terrible tangle of his nefarious brain. What he has done and had done to others, for money, power and just to play his own endlessly inhuman games. Originally Jim did all his own despicable acts. As he got higher up the food chain, he had others do his dirty work. Taking footage of each and every malicious, murderous deed, so that he could play back these horrible scenarios again and again. Now with the power of his mind, Jim is flooding John’s consciousness with the filth of his decades of death dealing, mangled bodies and souls. Bringing endless suffering to everyone who he deemed unworthy of a continued existence.

“So you aren’t the only psychic around. Though I have to admit that you are on a level I’ve never encountered before.” Moriarty stops briefly with his torturous thoughts.

“Ah, your thoughts turn to Sherlock Holmes.” Jim’s eyes widen as he scans John’s thoughts. “So, you have feelings for him. Strong, deep feelings. Yes. That’s a good thing. I’ve always wanted to capture him, cage him and turn him inside out. He’s a genius, not in my league, but then few are.”

John blanks his mind. Cursing his momentary weakness for thinking of Sherlock. Can he force his consciousness to shut down altogether? He’s familiar with meditative states. Crap why hadn’t he thought of this before. Giving himself a break, Moriarty’s onslaught is pure torture and left him little energy for actual thinking.

Willing his mind to relax. Knowing that he had to keep some function going or his flesh body will begin to deteriorate. He concentrates on the breathing of his flesh body.

(-_-)

“How many script kiddies are on this floor?” Sherlock has thought of a plan. Whether it will work or not depends on too many factors for him to safely determine the out come. 

“There are 80 off hand.” Sasha offers. “But we can put out the call on the subnet and get as many as you want internationally.” 

“No, I only want those on site. Have them all meet me in the main hall ASAP. And everyone here, I want you to focus on supporting John’s flesh body. Amplify his energy, boost his vitals to above minimum levels. He needs to be as strong as possible. I want that to happen right now, people.”

As Sherlock leaves the room, there is a flurry of activity. John becomes even more of everyone’s concern. Everyone knows that raising John’s body vitals to normal or above capacity could be deleterious to his spectral body. But Sherlock has spoken and there isn’t anyone who will contradict the Lord Digital Death. At least not anyone living.


	6. John's Hive Mind, Sherlock's Mind Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saving John, yet again. Saving John for himself. The Hive Mind, the Mind meltdown. Hang on, it's going to be a bumpy ride. Oh, and Mycroft being Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson is BAMF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should say that this is a work of fantasy. I am not a computer nerd. Wish I was. I am a psychic though, so maybe that helps. But I think all living and non living things have psychic energy. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

“And just what do we owe the pleasure of this impromptu gathering of your close circle of ‘friends’?” Mycroft says that last work with all the distaste and discord he can muster. Mycroft is none too pleased with being dragged away from affairs of state to participate in the affairs of Sherlock. He bristles with animosity.

“Do be quiet for as many moments as you can possibly master, Mycroft. This is a matter of utmost urgency. You are all here to help me save John.” Sherlock puts great emphasis on John’s name. Taking a monumental breath. He leans upon the nearest table and looks to everyone there. 

Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, his evil brother Mycroft, all sit around a table in the Serpent’s Tooth main lair. 

Greg looks a bit befuddled. Molly determined to help Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson totally on board. Mycroft seems to be the only one who is completely skeptical.

“Is this the same John you just met and outed as being a spy for...who was he a spy for?” Greg asks.

“John Watson is a wonderful man and if he’s in trouble then we should do all we can to save him.” Mrs. Hudson states as she has known John for the longest time.

Greg and Molly know Sherlock and if he says someone needs saving, then they are going to save John, no matter what.

Sherlock looks to his rubbish big brother. Mycroft stares down his nose at Sherlock even from his sitting position.

“I knew it would come to this. You’ve placed entirely too much emphasis on this tentative relationship with a man of questionable character...” Before Mycroft can speak further, Mrs. Hudson stands, pushing her chair out forcefully, causing it to make a harsh scraping noise.

“Now you listen here, who ever the bloody hell you are. Doctor John Watson is a highly decorated former Captain with the Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“I show no such data on the Dr. Watson in question.” Mycroft sniffs as he tilts his head toward Mrs. Hudson.

“Because its been redacted you idiot. He is a spy.” She gives Mycroft a frozen stare that has him all by squirming in his chair.

“Well now that we’ve worked out all the kinks in our relationships. I think we need to get started, time as the saying goes, waits for no man. Not even you Mycroft.” Sherlock says with an icy edge to his voice.

(-_-)

Remington and Sasha are conferring in one of the adjoining computer rooms.

“Just what do you think is going on?” Sasha queries. “We’ve got programmers, code byters, computer scientist and everyone in between. Why is Sherlock using script kiddies to put together a mishmash of packet sniffers?”

“Who knows? Somehow this John Watson has gotten very important, very quickly. I just hope that Sherlock hasn’t lost it, you know?” Remington isn’t above questioning their fearless leader.

“Well, I can join the fray and help out coding packet sniffers.” Sasha advises. 

“No. Sherlock hand picked the script kiddies he wanted. No one else is allowed to assist.” Remington makes an apologetic face.

“Really?” Sasha pulls her own factious face.

(-_-)

“What’s he doing?” Moriarty demands. “What the hell’s he doing?”

John’s spectral body floats limply in the static field. He is meditating. He is breathing into his flesh body. Concentrating on not concentrating on any one thing. Thought without thinking. This will at least block the terrible images and feelings that Moriarty has been blasting into his mind. The peace and quiet of his restive mind is a blessed release from Moriarty’s malevolence.

Moriarty is livid. This is not how he wanted things to go. This is unacceptable. This is going to change. In his fury he begins destroying the room. His minions move far away from his immediate vicinity. No one wants to feel the full potential of his rampant rage. 

(-_-)

An urgent knock on the door to the conference lair room and Remington enters. “Sherlock, it’s John. Something is happening.”

Sherlock stops his discourse and immediately exits the room to go to John’s side. John’s breathing is deep into his abdomen. Sherlock knows that this is a signature move of many forms of meditation.

“How are his vitals?” Sherlock asks. 

“They are lower than normal but stable.” A med-tech answers.

“John you are an absolute genius. Keep me informed of any slight variation and clear the room.” Sherlock commands and herds his small group around John’s raised platform.

“Make contact.” Sherlock said softly. As each one of his hive group touches that part of John closest to them. 

(-_-)

With his own psychic powers, Moriarty attempts to regain some semblance of control over the situation at hand. The calm emanations coming from John are stinging to Jim’s nerves and he knows he can stand the irritation for only so long.

Jim is like a chaotic river, jumping its banks and surging in all directions at once. Now he stands in the still waters that John has become. The still waters that threaten Jim’s very existence. Screaming his defiance, Moriarty leaves the room, slamming the heavy door nearly off its hinges.

“That’s going to be a real problem.” One of his many minions whispers. He knows the boss in a bad mood can be a life threatening event. 

(-_-)

{John, dear, can you reply to my thoughts?} Mrs. Hudson’s cerebrations are being boosted by the brain power of the hive mind that Sherlock has collected. {John, we are here to help you in any way that you need us to. John?} Mrs. Hudson mental tone is soft, sincere, trustworthy and strong as the might of the England they all know and love.

{Martha?} Gently, John’s persona skims over the group. {Is that you? Hive mind?} John’s mental ruminations are calm and though weak are steady.

{John!} That has to be Sherlock. {Those quirky, rich baritone like vibrations have to be Sherlock.} John thinks.

{I’m here.} John manages. {Meditating, Sherlock. You should try it.} John can almost feel Sherlock smiling at that. {Moriarty is trying to recruit me. Hard to keep from going mad. Can’t access orbiters. No idea where I am.}

Sherlock’s mind becomes prominent. {We’re going to boost your power. Hoping you can break free and reconnect with over head satellites. Sherlock focus’ and the combined energy of the people in contact with John’s flesh body surges.

{Martha! You never told me you were a cold war psychic.} John is shocked and astonished. {No wonder you are able to reach me. You have a seasoned psychic facilitating contact.}

{A woman wants to have some mystery.} Mrs. Hudson lifts the mental powers of the group toward John’s position.

Back in John’s platform room, Sherlock looks at her critically. There is certainly more to her than what one can detect on the surface and Sherlock loves a mystery.

Mrs. Hudson winks at Sherlock, a scandalous tilt of her head and she is leading the hive mind to John. She is seeking to enforce and stabilize his mental powers.

John can feel the infusion of renewed energy. Honing in on and mingling with Mrs. Hudson’s greater concentration, he radiates this higher energy level into the field that now holds him prisoner. Particle by particle John emanates, amplifies and circulates a vortex around himself. The hive mind realizes a force that allows John to generate a strong electric charge. He zaps the cage that holds him. Free at last, John focus’ on the orbiters above him. Instantly, he knows where he is and using the closest orbiter, he kicks off back to his flesh body.

(-_-)

John takes a massively deep breath and opens his deep midnight blue eyes to see Sherlock grinning down into his face.

“Welcome back, John.” 

The small smile on Sherlock’s lips is so endearing. John knows it is most likely a totally new conceptual experience for Sherlock. The normally acerbic and razor sharp intellect that was Sherlock’s usual demeanor was now superseded by such a boyish warmth that John wants to see more of.

“It is good to be back.” John proclaims. Then turning to Mrs. Hudson, he gives her a gimlet eyed look. “You have much to explain, Mrs. Hudson.”

“John, dearest, I will be glad to explain anything you desire, now that you are safe.” 

“So you really didn’t know she was a psychic?” Sherlock is incredibly stunned that he hadn’t deduced it himself.

John swung his legs off the platform to stand and was as wobbly as hell. Sherlock grabs him immediately and re-positions him back on the platform.

“I guess dealing with that madman took more out of me than I thought. And no you are not carrying me to the near by on-site clinic. I am in distress. Period.” John admonished Sherlock. 

John throws his arm around Sherlock’s neck and is pleasantly surprised that the consulting detective stoops a bit to accommodate John’s smaller frame.

Med-techs rush into the room with a wheel chair for John, only to be given a Sherlock stare that will crush the soul of anyone attempting to assist John other than himself.

“How did you know I was going to pick...” Sherlock starts.

“Psychic, remember?” John presses into Sherlock further physically and gives him a small sensation of what it is like to be linked with a psychic.

Sherlock stops momentarily. Stunned. Looking at John with the eyes of a child, transparent of guile. “Was that you just now?” He finally gets the words out.

“You bet your Berluti’s,” John giggles. Referring to Sherlock’s posh two thousand dollar shoes.

“I desire that you repeat that cognitive content for me.” Sherlock almost pleads.

“I’ll bet you do.” John said with a wicked smile upon his lips.

(-_-)

{I’ve never been inside someone’s Mind Palace before.} John was looking around at the vaulted ceilings, the massive walls covered with words, images and dissertations on everything from murders to mouse traps. Bees to Beethoven. There were vast gaps in the data stream though. John sees that the intimacy, sensuality and empathy frameworks are there but not as well developed as other areas.

John turns a corner and is amazed. A whole wing seems to be devoted to him; his likeness, his likes and dislikes, idiosyncrasies, data pertaining to he skill sets, known past history. And an unusually large amount of images of John in his various military uniforms and partial out of said uniforms. {Someone really likes a military man.} John smirks at that thought.

{Someone’s been doing their home work.} John thinks as he passes into the John-centric palatial portion of the Mind Palace. Where the other portions of the Mind Palace are hectic almost manic in their swirling amounts of information with minimalist decor and enhancements. Here there is a peace and serenity that is found no where else. The floors are covered in ancient tapestries, the walls hung with some of John’s legendary hero's and cherished childhood playthings. How did he manage that? 

{You do that to me.} Sherlock’s thoughts are filled with these new concepts. {I feel like a different person when you are near.}

{It’s not unusual. Psychics give off a definite vibe that soothes and permeates those around them. It’s a thing we do. It let’s us assess situations before they can go critical.}

John shifts out of Sherlock’s Mind Palace and back into the drawing room of 221B. He’s sitting in his comfy chair as Sherlock lays, unmoving, upon the couch. Hands steepled in faux prayer under his chin. 

“So how did you like me strolling in your Mind Palace?” John asks. 

Sherlock takes a deep breath and opens frosted blue glass eyes that are beyond ethereal. John is struck numb by the beauty before him.

{How did I get so lucky?} He thinks. The he notices that Sherlock is showing definite signs of arousal. “Normally, people aren’t affected sexually by my psychic intrusions.” 

“Normally, no one has ever caused my transport to react at all.” Sherlock slowly sits up, placing his hands on either side of his outer thighs. Gripping the couch, he looks at John with eyes that are not sharp, focused and feral as they’ve been before, but gentle, loving and glistening with inner light.

“I’m going to change that for you.” John says smiling warmly. 

Sherlock comes down on his knees and goes to kneel between Johns legs. John reaches for his soft cheek and caresses Sherlock’s face. Sherlock leans in further, his eyes showing apprehension. As if he fears rejection from John more than anything else in the world right now.

John meets his gaze, meets his lips and kisses him with the experience of a man of the world, introducing a youthful soul to love. First love. John knows he must be more of a circumspect lover than he has been to anyone else in his life. This is Sherlock Holmes, whose transport is ready to capitulate its long celibacy. He wants Sherlock to be the love of his life. He feels his psychic aurora engulfing Sherlock and himself. This has never happened before. Their psychic forces merge and entangle in a strong bond. A bond never to be broken. John gasps as the juncture of their hearts, souls and minds coalesce into a single organic and spiritual being.

Sherlock collapses onto John, as John takes him into his strong arms. Tears welling from his eyes. This is beyond anything he’s ever experienced before. {What the bloody hell just happened?}


	7. The Thrill is On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastian and Jim. Sex without having sex. Serpent's Tooth has a cavity, no wait a mole. When is this story going to end??? Is this weird enough for you??

“Tell me what you desire, Jim?” Lord Moran’s voice is subtly sensual. His suave, elegant manner unruffled, even in the presence of the pandemonium that is James Moriarty. 

“I want John Watson’s flesh body. I want his psychic presence. Bring me a Semtex surprise!” Moriarty shouts. “I want to blow up each and every Serpentarium that exists. I want Sherlock Holmes’ head on a platinum patter.” Jim sings in child-like glee. Nearly frothing at the mouth with savage feelings, he is a wall of unrelenting energy. 

Moran crosses the expanse of Moriarty’s office, placing himself up against the raging deity that is James Moriarty. Passionate dark brown eyes meet the piercing black eyes of the shorter man. If looks could smolder any more the room would set itself to fire.

Lord Bastian Moran has been a soldier, a spy, a political pawn in the game of world corruption and cruelty and anything else that Jim Moriarty needs him to be. He is the only living man who can stand his own against the King of Crime. He’s bedded the boss and still breathes. 

“If you list these items in the order in which you want them to happen, James. I will be sure your desires are met.” Bastian says with certainty on his handsome face. His voice like darkness dipped in hell hound honey.

Jim looks up into the eyes of his companion, lover and miracle worker extraordinaire, knowing that Bastian will not let him down. Has never let him down. He caresses Bastian’s face. Kissing him with the ferocity of a predatory big cat. Then purrs as no big cat can do. Purrs, knowing that Bastian will be everything he wants him to be and things he’s never dreamed of.

Bastian takes Jim’s hand. Pulling him towards the nearest bedroom. Though Bastian’s heart is ice, his blood blossoms with volcanic overtures. The music that these two play is a symphony of predation and satiation in all things. 

Moriarty was so surprised to have found Bastian, not knowing that a man like him existed. Bastian bears the hallmark of aristocracy, paired with all the depravity that Jim could ever hope for. Truly a match made in the heart of darkness. Moriarty quips that they were both born from the bad blood of the world. And though Jim has his many dalliances, his Bastian is and always will be faithful to his dark lord. What more could the world’s only consulting criminal ask for. Well, a great deal actually.

(-_-)

Languidly, Bastian comes awake and stretches his aching muscles. Jim lays by his side, sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly shagged. Bastian smiles and wonders at his life. From a life of privilege and fame to living in the shadow worlds of James Moriarty; where he can have anything his heart desires, but all he wants is Jim. Something about the insanity of the man draws him like a magnet. Though Jim is ever a man of huge sexual appetites; Bastian is sure that if he desired to partake of other partners, Jim would be okay with that. Yet, Bastian finds he desires no one else. He is actually happy to share Jim’s time and temperament. Being the focus of a whirl wind could be too much for one person. Keeping Jim happy is more than a full time job. So farming out the position is actually a good thing.

Rolling out of their huge bed, Bastian moves to their adjacent pool. A quick shower to cleanse away the funk and fluid of the evenings passion, then into the pool to swim against a man made current. The waters just a tad cooler than his body temperature, caressing every part of him. The waters rejuvenate his body. His soul long ago compromised, he revels in the strength of a man in his prime. A man of power, beauty and absolutely no morality. This must be what it feels like to be a deity. Above laws, beyond the reach of mere men. 

Lifting himself from the pool, towels, a robe, slippers and his favorite breakfast awaits him. Ah, the aroma of his Vietnamese weasel coffee causes his eyes to close in amused pleasure; at three thousand dollars a kilo, it is worth every penny. 

Tapping his mobile on the table next to his breakfast. He speed dials a number. 

“Terry, I want everything you have on John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I know Watson’s not on the grid. This is level alpha priority. Double tap everyone inside the local government to squeeze information, okay. Good.”

(-_-)

Coming back to the bedroom, Jim is gone. Not unusual, the man is ever on the move when awake. Bastian dresses and sets about his day. There are very few days off here in the wonderland of the wizard of weird as Moriarty’s underlings have designated it. If Jim ever found them using that terminology; the lips that uttered those syllables would soon be detached from their respective head. 

Looking at the bank of computer screens in his office. Bastian analyzes footage from the prior evening and begins delegating work to the many people who work for him. Moriarty’s network is immense and global captains must report regularly to him. Information flows and the data stream is vast and valuable. 

{Shite, he loves his work. Almost as much as he cares for Jim. Almost.}

(-_-)

John is ensconced in 221B with the ever bouncing and brilliant Sherlock Holmes. He’s never seen anyone with so much nervous energy. If he could bottle it, he’d make a couple of fortunes selling it on QVCUK. Watching the man flit about is exhausting. He is content to drink his rather excellent tea and settle in with a good book. John’s a speed reader, so devouring large tomes is a habit he has fostered all his life.

Sherlock is elated to learn of this skill set of John’s. All the more reading the two of them can do. Twice the ability to digest large amounts of data in the least amount of time. 

“Sherlock, I’ve made tea and Mrs. Hudson’s brought up your favorite tarts. Why don’t you settle a bit and tuck in?” 

Sherlock turns as if just remembering that John is present. A small smile enhances his lips as he brings himself to his chair. Taking up his cuppa, he tucks into the tarts John offers up.

John can tell that there is a tremulous sensory experience happening as Sherlock’s massive brain dedicates itself to the fueling of his transport. Snarfing tarts and drinking a most excellent cup of tea requires the maximum amount of brain cells to catalog and delineate the true delight that the senses can acquire. John knows that he has something to do with this new ability. Well, not new, just an ability that had to be dragged kicking and screaming into Sherlock’s repertoire of current behaviors. Sherlock Holmes is becoming a sensualist; someone who enjoys life, a seeker of pleasure in taste, touch and sex. John’s companion and lover. Who would have guessed? Certainly John would never have come into contact with Sherlock if events of the past few weeks hadn’t caused their paths to cross.

“Sherlock? You know I’m really glad that you outed me. If not for that, we would never have met.”

Sherlock looks at John with a bit of whimsy on his face and tart crumbs on his chin. “It was a happy happenstance indeed.” 

“Have you any leads on who the mole is inside Serpent’s Tooth?” John didn’t want to go back into the problem of Moriarty, but they couldn’t ignore the criminal mastermind indefinitely.

“The more important question is...” Sherlock sets his cuppa down, leans forward and places his large graceful hand on John’s knee. “Why is he so intent on capturing you?”

“From what I can tell, he has some psychic abilities. I’d put him at a level 4. Which in of itself isn’t too troublesome, but he wants more than anything to enhance his abilities. That is a big problem.”

“There is no way he can extract your expertise, is there?” Sherlock asks as he savors more of his tea then sets the cup down. His eyes lock onto John’s. His deep concern and loving adoration quite evident.

“Not that I’m aware of, but then I’ve not dabbled in psychic research. I’m a spy, remember?”

Sherlock huffs a breath of exasperation. “I’ve been reliably informed that you are THE cyber-psychic.” 

“None better.” John gives Sherlock a wide smile that sparkles his eyes. 

Sherlock’s patience evaporates, crossing the short distance between them, he kneels down in front of John. As their eyes focused on each other, Sherlock takes the initiative and places a kiss upon John’s lips. Without hesitation John brings Sherlock closer as the kiss becomes a mutually satisfying expression of their blossoming love.

Sherlock leans back slightly, to determine his affect on John.

“Don’t stop now. You’ve started the fire, now feed the flames.” John whispers.

Sherlock resumes a flirty kiss that easily becomes feral. It is then that John opens his psychic presence to Sherlock. Reality tips, time space is quiescent, matter merges. Sherlock is inside of John, can feel his beating heart. His firing synapses. The electrical pulses that drive his intellect and desires. Sherlock’s eyes go wide with astonishment.

His graceful hands grip John’s clothing as if John is the only thing left in the world, because he is.

John cradles Sherlock’s head in his strong hands. “Don’t forget to breathe, dear heart.” John moves his hands to grip Sherlock’s torso and lowers him to the floor; following him down. Embracing his lover with all the encompassing tenderness that he possesses. Kissing Sherlock’s lips, eye lids and face. 

Sherlock takes an enormous breath, blinking his eyes rapidly. “What is this John?” He stammers.

“Welcome to my psychic world.” John brings Sherlock’s body onto his lap. While all about them light and darkness swirl and coalesce in a perfect harmony of infinite beauty, energy and entropy flowing endlessly. “I’ve let you ‘see’ a tiny portion of my psychic presence. It can be quite overwhelming, but you’ll get used to it. Wait till we actually have hot sex. It will definitely blow your Mind Palace up, out and into other dimensions.”

Sherlock still has a death grip on John. “Can we transition into the mind blowing sex now?” 

John giggles, then laughs as he smothers Sherlock with kisses, both physical and psychic.

(-_-)

Bastion is a little concerned. Questioning the information on John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. A level 10 psychic and the possible captain of one of the Serpentariums in London. That combination could be troublesome down the road.

He knew that Serpent’s Tooth is a force that skirted Moriarty’s world. Offering roadblocks to many of Jim’s major operations. The hackerteers as they called themselves were as clandestine as Jim’s. Whereas no one was aware of Moriarty’s machinations. There is some public awareness of the subversive and totally wracked out behaviors of Serpent’s Tooth. Being the major harrier of politicians, tyrants and corporate corruption; they bedeviled some, undermined others and had actually brought some to the world courts with their delving into the cooked books of many individuals, consortiums and countries in high places.

Then, how had this happened without his knowledge, there was the level 10 psychic out there. No wonder Jim was after his arse. Level 8’s were supposed to be the highest achievable landmark for psychic’s. What they couldn’t do with a level 10 under their thumb. He would have to be under duress though as this valid war hero and highly honored medical man had been a pillar of positive citizenship in his world before he went dark. So possibly two of the most dangerous men to counter Jim’s international web of intrigue were coming together. The initial belief was that they disliked each other, later reports contradicting this, stating that there was a possible amorous amendment to their relationship.

Bastian texted several of his highest operatives and smiling at his ingenuity, the one working mole in Serpent’s Tooth. It was time to get creative and start sussing out these two men. Daddy wanted a level 10 psychic and to burn the little hearts out of Serpent’s Tooth. Bastian was absolutely fucking sure that this was a doable thing. Bringing Daddy what he wanted is always rewarded with unbelievable benefits. Capture two birds and ride the high rails for a long, long time. Those little islands just off the coast of New Zealand were looking like they were going to be Bastian’s new playground.

(-_-)

Sherlock, his eyes almost open, lay in bed. John is moving about the room tending to his morning rituals. Even though it was nearly midnight. 

“You had a good time, I take it?” John leans over Sherlock to give him a kiss on his forehead. “Or are you just happy to have your transport transported?”

John’s smile is so endearing. Sherlock’s smile is warm and whimsical; child—like and so very relaxed.

“I’ve never had sex without having sex.” Sherlock says softly. “It felt like it went on for life times?”

“Time can get a bit scrambled in psychic space. Not to worry though we will be having real sex very soon. Then to gob-smack your mind even further, we’ll have psychic sex and real sex together. That will completely turn you inside out.”

“I can hardly wait.” Sherlock says with complete conviction as his energy seems to be flagging. 

“I’ve got a meeting with some of the Toothsome’s in a half hour. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I don’t think you are in any shape to even walk, let alone be cognizant of what others are saying. So get some rest, okay?”

“What ever you say, John. I’m resting now.” Sherlock snuggles into the blankets and his breathing levels out. 

John reaches over and touches Sherlock’s forehead with his hand. Depositing some wonderful dream material into his psyche. “Sweet dreams love.” He admonishes the love of his life.

(-_-)

The meeting runs into the next day. Blows through breakfast and turns into a brief lunch thing. All in all it is a good operations discussion with several planning committees formed. 

“Thanks for the input everyone. I think we’ve done as much damage to our respective work schedules as we can hope for in one twenty four hour period. Let’s get some rest and we will reconvene tomorrow. I’ll group text everyone with the time and place.” John pulls out his mobile and texts Sherlock.

**Are you alive? JW**

There is no immediate answer. John isn’t too concerned. Psychic sex can completely debilitate the average human being. Even Sherlock Holmes. 

After leaving some oral transcripts to be typed up, John exits the Serpentarium and grabs a taxi home. Paying the cabby, John unlocks the door to 221B. He plays nice with Mrs. Hudson as she is dusting and arranging the main hall of the flat. Finally, bounding up the stairs to their rooms, John opens the door and feels something is amiss. Searching the rooms, he finds no Sherlock. 

Pulling out his mobile again, he calls Sherlock. He can hear a muffled ringing in the bedroom. There is Sherlock’s Belstaff, draped over the chair at the desk. Digging into the pocket he finds the mobile. There are several texts on the phone.

**Are you there?**Bastian

**Do you want to know where we are?** Bastian

“Shite.” John sits hard on the unmade bed. “Shite, shite, shite!”


	8. How much venom can a viper vent?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is the bait. John is BAMF. Moriarty thinks he's so fine and Moran is a bad ass. Enough said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a fun romp and I hope you all have enjoyed it. I was quite ill during some of the writing time frame, but I think the story didn't suffer too much. Onward to other stories to numerous to count. John and Sherlock Forever!

John descended the stairs of 221B. He doesn’t have his gun. Walking into a trap foretold that things would not end well. Moriarty waited with Sherlock as bait. Opening the door he found Sam the cabbie waiting for him. She is right on time.

“So what was your price to betray the Serpent’s Toothers? John demands.

Sam looks guilty as charged. “I have 5 children, my eldest daughter works in one of his legitimate ventures. He holds my children hostage for my cooperation. He has eyes and ears everywhere. If I don’t follow his every word, they will suffer at the hands of his assassins.”

“Sorry, I didn’t...” John apologizes.

“Believe me, Dr. Watson, if the opportunity came I would be the first to end his reptilian life in any way I could.” Sam says with contempt. “He won’t hurt Sherlock for now.”

“What can you tell me about Moriarty?” John questions as he steps into her taxi. “Do you interact with him at all? Any information you can give me might help me out?”

Taking her position at the drivers seat, she starts up the engine, heading out into traffic.

“I’ve never been in the same room with him, but his people talk. He’s bat shit crazy, by all accounts and his lover Bastian Moran is a cold hearted piece of work. Moriarty doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, but Moran is quick to bathe in the blood of anyone that Moriarty points to. They were made for each other.”

“This Moran. What’s his temperament?” John latches onto the demon’s second in command.

“He’s a posh git. Said to have some royal blood, but born on the wrong side of the blanket. You know what I mean.” Sam looks into her rear view mirror to peer at John.

“Yeah, I have a thing for a posh git too.” John commiserated. 

“I’m sorry that I have had a hand in this John. I really am, but my children...”

“No, I’ll not take your excuse. You should have come to Sherlock. You know him. He puts up a cold front, but down in there is a lava flow of caring. He would have found some way to protect all of you. In fact I think he may have already.”

(-_-)

Sherlock woke in not his bedroom. How he’d gotten there was still fuzzy. He remembered being disoriented after the mind blowing psychic sex. John kissing him and pushing him back into his bed. Telling him to rest. He’d lain back in the rumbled sheets, listening to Hudders humming, dancing, while hoovering as she always did in the mornings, then nothing.

The room was pretty conventional. A holding place. Not too comfortable, but not devoid of comforts. His clothes lay at the foot of the bed. He is entangled in his own sheet. Dressing with the greatest amount of efficiency Sherlock stands, examining the enclosure with the full force of his deductive talents. 

“Ah, finally awake, I see.” Moriarty’s voice is soft, seductive. “I was hoping we could have a little chat before John arrives.”

“So come into the light. Look into my eyes and ‘chat’.” Sherlock turns on his most charming demeanor as he sits down confidently, at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, I love a man who can assume an air of confidence, even when he’s trapped.” The door to Sherlock’s room opens and Moriarty makes his grand entrance. His man, Moran, following behind. Moran doesn’t appear to be armed. At least not anything apparent. Sherlock can deduce that the man has vast training in several forms of martial arts. His body language with its relaxed movements are quite telling.

“Moriarty, John says you have some psychic abilities yourself. That you’re interested in accessing his expertise. You know that’s quite impossible. John’s talents far out strip yours.”

Moriarty comes to stand over Sherlock. His diminutive stature looming over the sitting consulting detective. 

Sherlock looks up into the madness of Jim’s eyes. There is way too much there, there, he notes. Machinations and cross purposes fairly creep out of him. “So, I assume that John is on his way?” Sherlock leans forward into Jim’s face.

Their eyes do battle, the cold bridled logic of Holmes and the volatile mixture of death and deviance that are only the surface of Moriarty’s life.

“What is this all about then, Jim? Why capture a man you can’t really control or assimilate? What’s it all for?” Sherlock moves to grab at one of Moriarty’s labels.

Moran is there. Right there. Pulling Sherlock’s hand back and twisting it to totally control his movements. 

The pain Sherlock feels from the grip is worth it. He knows Moran’s strengths and his weakness. Sherlock relaxes as Moran slowly loosens his grip.

“Now that I have the one person in the world that John will do anything for. I can control him. With him in my pocket, I’ll finally be able to destroy Serpent’s Tooth. To annihilate my enemy’s and play havoc with the world at large. I do love it when everyone wants to be my particular friend.” Moriarty moves into the arms of Moran and runs his fingers through the perfect hair of his paramour. 

Moran keeps his eyes on Sherlock. Moriarty’s ministrations neither arouse or distract him. {Some watch dog you have there.} Sherlock thinks. Then he sees John’s image moving through the ceiling of his cell. 

John smiles, nodding towards the venomous vipers that have their backs to him. Sherlock immediately transfers his attention to Moriarty. Watching John with his peripheral vision. 

(-_-)

Sam is running into the heart of the main Serpent’s Tooth computer lair. “I need to talk to someone about John Watson!” She is wild eyed, determined.

“I’m Remington. Sam, your name is Sam isn’t? Where is John?”

Sam looks aghast as the Toothers gather round her. There in the midst of the techno-types are her precious babies. “Oh my god.” She cries as she gathers them into her arms. 

“We had pan cakes with maple syrup.” Little Gina says.

“We’re all okay, mum.” Beth the eldest says. 

“How...did you know?” Sam stammers. Looking at Remington, she is filled with gratitude. “Wait, John’s flesh body is in my cab in the upper level basement garage. He told me to bring him here. Said I could trust you all to bring Sherlock and him home safe. You have to help Sherlock. John’s gone after him.”

“Let me take you and your family into the eye of the Needle.” Sasha says with a warm smile on her face. “You’ll all be safe here. We’ll take over now. You’ve done your part. Moriarty thinks he’s sprung his trap. What he doesn’t know is that ‘Lord Digital Death’ has been playing the long game. Moriarty’s just made one of many bad moves. He’s threatened John Watson one too many times.”

(-_-)

Sherlock smiles. It’s one of his deception smiles. It lacks warm or humor. It’s cold, calculating and borders on demonic. 

“You seem to forget who has captured whom.” Moriarty gives his reptilian dark eyes a flutter and tilts his head just so. Letting his face take on a childish glee.

Sherlock stands. His greater height looms over Moriarty. Moran moves Jim out of harms way, drawing a well concealed gun, he steps closer to Sherlock.

“Don’t even think about trying anything.” Moran advises him. “Taking out one of the Toother’s captains would give me great pleasure.”

Sherlock stands his ground. “I thought you only went after children and small fluffy animals?” Sherlock taunts. 

Without looking to Jim for approval, Moran swings his gun hand to pistol whip Sherlock. 

Sherlock easily back steps to avoid the gun, then steps in to use Moran’s own momentum to send him flying in the direction of his swinging arm. Moran falls to the floor onto his gun. The gun goes off as the bullet penetrates Moran’s body. The bullet pierces Moran’s torso. He drops the gun as he clutches at the wound in his right side. Blood blossoming across his very expensive suit.

Moriarty is in shock. Dropping to his knees he cradles his now semiconscious paramour in a frenzied embrace. 

By this time Sherlock has retrieved Moran’s gun and holds it on Moriarty.

With the strength of a mad man, Moriarty heaves Moran up onto the bed in the room. Turning, he stares at Sherlock and if looks could kill, Sherlock would be dead and buried.

“You won’t use that gun. I know your type. You talk a good game, but you can’t pull the trigger. Couldn’t shoot an unarmed man. I will make sure you pay for this travesty. You will suffer at my hand for hurting him.” Jim’s face is a mask of hatred. His eyes gone insane with pay back.

Sherlock smiles. A knowing smile that says he is absolutely in control.

As Moriarty watches, John Watson materializes from within the body of Sherlock Holmes. His hand is inside Sherlock’s, holding the gun that is aimed directly at Moriarty.

“Sherlock may not be prone to overt violence, but I’ve no such compunctions. Believe me when I say that watching you die slowly, painfully from a gut shot would just make my day.”

“Have you contacted Serpent’s Tooth?” Sherlock asks. 

“They will be here momentarily.” John advises. You have got to keep me in the loop Sherlock.” John chides.

“Well if certain people hadn’t blown my mind with their psychic sexcapades. I would have.” Sherlock gives a wry wink and a nod to the psychic man who inhabits his mind and body at the moment.

“You the first partner to complain about my psychic sexcapades.” John huffs.

“And I will be the last. There will be no other partners in your life, John Watson.” Sherlock is adamant about that.

“Oh get a room.” Moriarty stamps and sits next to his flailing bed partner. 

“You put some pressure on his wound until we can get him medical assistance.” John commands.

Alarms are filling the building with chaotic noise. The door opens with a bang and assault troops from Serpent’s Tooth and the local authorities enter, taking control of the situation.

“I never knew you could merge with another person before?” Sherlock sounds very intrigued.

“That’s because its never happened before I met you.” John answers.

“Fascinating.” Sherlock wrinkles his brow in wonderment. “You can go back to your flesh body now.” Sherlock tells John.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you out of my site or vicinity for a while. Maybe never.” John says with a wicked lilt to his voice. 

“I think I can live with that.” Sherlock perks up, his voice a sensuous baritone that make John’s psychic presence quiver in anticipation.

(-_-)

Within seconds a deadly assault on Moriarty’s malevolent syndicate is launched. Denial of service attacks and a wad of packet sniffers that would choke a Trojan Horse, obliterate Moriarty’s minions and many organizations. Serpent’s Tooth is international and now Moriarty is not.

(-_-)

Sherlock lies in their bed. Frowzled and so relaxed he can not move. 

“John, what are you up to?” 

“I’m using my unique skills. I’m attempting to determine just how much sex you and I can have in any given period of time. It’s an experiment. For science.” John’s eyes twinkle in the low lamp light as he holds himself over his consulting lover. His smile is a super nova that Sherlock can not live without.

“Proceed.” Sherlock commands. “But do try to keep me from waking all the neighbors with my exultation's of your many worthy attributes.”

“Yeah, I’m going to kiss you silent.” John says with great conviction. Proceeding on a scale never before seen in the annals of sexual behavior to keep Sherlock Holmes in bed for a very long, long time.


End file.
